


From the Wreckage

by iaintafraidofnoghostbear



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Drugged Sex, Forced Marriage, Historical Inaccuracy, Hopeful Ending, King Ivan, M/M, Minor Character Death, Politics, Prince Mitch, Prostitution, Rape, Virginity is a Social Construct, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 02:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21111509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear
Summary: When his men capture the prince of their rival kindom, Ivan has a choice to make: barter for the second-born son's freedom, or take Mitch as a groom to hopefully bring an end to the war that has waged for years. Nothing is guaranteed, and Mitch's father makes things all the more difficult.





	From the Wreckage

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to fly-guys for the absolutely gorgeous art that you can find [here.](https://fly-guys.tumblr.com/post/188481156879/from-the-wreckage-by-elenajames). Please go take a look and show her some love!  
Thank you to [trashcoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steven_damnkos/pseuds/trashcoon) for being my beta and my cheerleader.  
Extra thanks to the penaltybox for listening to me whine through the entire process of writing this thing.  
Finally, I've included some explanation of the tags in the endnotes. These do include spoilers for major events, so please be aware of that.  
Also, I'm terrible at historical accuracy and some attempt has been made; however, I cannot guarantee that anyone who really knows what they're doing won't find issues with what I've written.

Ivan strips out of his armor, leaving the pieces on one of the tables for one of the pages to collect. He’s road weary, sore still from battle. It’s late for a bath but he wanted to wash the grime from his body before going to bed. Tomorrow, he knows, will be a long day, and he’d rather not hold council still smelling of dirt, blood, and sweat - although some would argue it would be to his benefit to do so. 

He hears the door open and gazes through the rising steam in curiosity. Claude - his second in command - had already gone home for the evening, eager to get back to his husband and sons after a long campaign. Ivan relaxes when he realizes that it’s a new courtesan slipping through the doors, shedding the sheer fabric of his tunic as soon as the door is closed behind him. Ivan offers a hand to help him into the bath. 

“Claude thought you could use some company,” the man murmurs, straddling Ivan’s thighs. He plucks the sweet-scented soap and a clean cloth from the edge of the tub, lathering it up and starting to wash Ivan down. He’s thorough, hands careful as he scrubs Ivan’s arms and chest, down his belly until he’s dipped below the line of the water. At some point, the cloth disappears and only his hands are left, fondling Ivan’s cock. 

“Mm. What’s your name?” 

The man looks up for a moment, blue eyes surprised. “Brock, my lord.” 

“Brock. You’re very good. Are you opposed to being taken?” 

“No, my lord.” 

Easing Brock from his lap, Ivan stands, turning him around so he’s bent over the edge of the bath. He laughs softly to himself when he finds Brock already a little loose, slick inside with oil when Ivan teases a fingertip in. 

“Eager?” 

“Claude thought you would be, my lord.” Not quite the answer to his question, but that’s alright. Brock is hard between his legs and the soft moan he lets out when Ivan sinks in is answer enough. Ivan doesn’t spare him; he is eager, Claude was right, but Brock takes it well, rocking back onto his cock and grunting softly with each thrust. He’s big, broad and solid - not Ivan’s usual type but still attractive. 

Ivan’s pent up from his time on the road; he doesn’t lay with anyone while out in the field, preferring to focus on leading his men. Here, it’s less of a worry and he gladly takes his pleasure from Brock’s body. The man under him shudders when Ivan touches his cock, stroking it fast. Brock gets louder quickly, and Ivan can feel it when he finds his release, hole going tight and hips rocking back into Ivan’s. It doesn’t take Ivan long to follow, the fluttering grip around him dragging him over. 

Brock is pink-cheeked and sated looking when Ivan pulls out and allows him to turn over. They exchange a few messy kisses before Ivan moves to step out of the tub. He feels good, now, the ache in his body soothed by hot water and sex. Brock follows not far behind, slipping off toward the courtesans’ quarters. Ivan makes a note to himself to remember to thank Claude for sending him. 

He sleeps like the dead until Misha is pounding at his door, opening it as soon as Ivan manages to grunt some semblance of permission. Misha hardly blinks at his nakedness, used to it after all the years they’ve spent together. 

“Travis has returned. He has a captive. The Prince,” he explains breathlessly.

“Prince Christopher?” Not that Ivan doubts Travis or his abilities, but the Prince should have been near unreachable. To have him as a captive would go a long way in their efforts. 

“No, Prince Mitch. Come. Travis is injured and weary, but will not leave his guard until he’s turned the boy over.” 

That gets Ivan moving. Travis is one of his best, and Ivan hates to see him injured, even if that’s the price they pay in battle. Sure enough, Travis is battered - a cut on his cheek, bandages across his chest - but he still greets Ivan with a smile, stepping forward to pull him into a one-armed hug. 

“They said you just got in last night?” 

“I did. Had I known you were so close, I would’ve had a party ready.” 

“Had a lot on my mind, with this one.” Travis gestures to the bound man in the chair just behind him. The prince looks up, blue eyes angry and defiant. He’s chained wrist and ankle, bit between his teeth to keep him quiet. There’s a wound in his shoulder, likely from an arrow, and there are bruises along his cheek and jaw. 

“A fighter, huh?” 

“When he’s cornered, yes,” Travis says, wincing at the memory. 

“Go, we’ll send a doctor up. Misha, we’ll send for another to attend to our friend, here. Get him settled in one of the cells in the meantime.” 

Misha nods and - with the help of one of the guards - hauls Mitch to his feet. He struggles but the men are strong enough to cart him toward the staircase. 

“What’ll you do with him?” Travis asks softly. 

“We’ll see what he has to say. Just having him in our possession may be enough. Go, now, get some rest. I’ll have someone send food up to your rooms.” 

Travis nods and departs, moving stiffly. Ivan sends servants for food and the doctors; it's important that both Travis and the captive prince heal well - he’s going to need them both in time to come. 

Ivan gives it a couple of days, taking time to recoup himself before he visits the kitchen, picking up the tray meant for their prisoner and padding downstairs. The guards don’t bat an eye, just letting him through to where the prince is being kept. He’s sitting on the bed in his cell, glaring at Ivan as soon as he steps into view. Setting the tray on the small desk afforded his captive, Ivan turns to study him. He looks better than when he’d arrived. The skin around his wrists and ankles is still bruised, but both those and the marks on his face have begun to yellow. His clothes are clean, as are the bandages showing just beneath his collar. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like you care,” the prince mumbles.

“I do, actually. Your well-being is of vital importance, right now. Anything you need, you should ask.” 

All Ivan gets in return is another glare. He picks up the empty tray from the night before and takes it with him. The man is smart enough to eat, at least. 

He’s not surprised at all to find Travis waiting for him when he makes it back upstairs. Ivan just allows his friend to fall in step with him as he returns the dishes to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of soft rolls for himself and Travis as they step out into the cool morning. 

“Ask. I know you want to.” 

Travis doesn’t hesitate at all. “What is your plan?” 

“To keep him here. He’s a useful bargaining tool. But that’s not what you’re worried about. I have no plans to torture or kill him. I have to wonder, though, what arouses such concern for him in you.” 

“I saw him fight,” Travis says softly. “It was my arrow that felled him, and even then he fought hard to protect his men, to make sure they could escape while we tried to subdue him.” 

Ivan reaches out, then, touching his friend’s cheek. “I worry for your soft heart, at times. But I promise, I’ve no plans to harm him.” 

Travis blushes at that, looks away; from any other man, it might be an insult, but Ivan has always valued Travis’ compassion and he knows that. “My apologies. I know I shouldn’t question.” 

“It’s alright. We’ll need to make a plan. No doubt they know by now that we have him,” Ivan steps further out into the sunlight, feeling the promise of heat in the rays. “We should draft a message.” 

“Cease fire for the prince?” Travis sighs at Ivan’s nod, running a hand through his hair. “And if they refuse?” 

“Then we barter. Or continue fighting. We can drive them back if need be, but I would prefer to curb our losses and settle things before winter. Those in the borderlands need the stability if they’re going to be ready by frost.” 

They meet with Ivan’s council that afternoon, drafting up the message and arguing semantics until he finally puts his foot down, resolving to send the letter with a fresh crew of men lead by one of his knights. 

“They’re going to want proof that he's alive,” Travis murmurs, and Ivan nods. 

“I know. We’ll see if we can’t get him to write a note to send along. It should be good enough if it’s in his own hand.” 

It shouldn’t be a surprise when Mitch refuses. “Why? So you can use me as a bargaining chip? I don’t think so.” 

“Think of your mother and brother.” Travis keeps his voice soft and calm, earning himself a sneer. 

“You think of yourself as merciful, but you prey on the hearts of the vulnerable,” Mitch spits, directing his ire at Ivan even though it was Travis who spoke. 

“Perhaps. But better hearts than bodies. This is your chance, if you want to take it. I won’t extend it again.” 

With another glare, Mitch snatches up the parchment and quill, scribbling quickly and shoving the note through the bars of his cell. All it says is  _ Do not surrender _ . 

Feeling his lips curl into a smile at the boy’s daring, Ivan nods. “Good enough.” 

  
  


* * *

Reading the missive they’d received just this morning again, Ivan sighs. He should have known better, really. The people of Ontario are stubborn. Proud. Hoping they would exchange peace for their prince was asking too much. Ivan is unwilling to surrender, unwilling to allow them to spread their kingdom further. To the south and west, they’re bordered by peaceful kingdoms, ones with which they maintain good trade. 

Ontario has always been a different story. At best, they’ve maintained a tenuous peace; at worst . . . they’ve been at war since Ivan’s father died, leaving him the young king with only his friend and his father’s advisor at his back. It had taken him time and effort to earn his people’s trust, and - due to the King of Ontario’s persistence - had yet to truly secure peace, leaving a frisson of dissent among a select sector of his people. 

“We can gather more men,” Claude starts, but Ivan cuts him off. 

“No. Not yet. Winter is coming, and quickly. Men will be needed for the harvest. I want this done.” Closing his eyes, Ivan sighs, running through his options. War detracting from the harvest will hurt the people, surely. Many keep animals, but without the crops they will struggle to feed both their animals and themselves throughout the winter. He knows the customs of Ontario, their beliefs and laws - his father had seen to it he understood their enemies as well as he did their allies. He has one thing he can try, short of raising more volunteers for his army. 

“The prince is their second son. His brother will inherit the throne, which means his father would’ve only had one use for him off the battlefield.” Ivan can see Travis stiffen as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he does his best to not draw attention to his friend, keeping his eyes on the letter in his hand. 

“Killing him will only incur more of their wrath,” one of his council calls out. 

“I’m aware. I don’t intend to kill him. I intend to marry him.” 

That, of course, sets off a chorus of shouting and dissent. Travis looks stunned and Claude’s face can’t seem to decide what emotion it should settle on. The room quiets, though, when Ivan raises his hand. 

“Consider it. He is only a prince and he has no experience as a ruler. His fate would have been a marriage for political gain regardless.” 

“Our allies may see it as a reach for power,” another councilperson interjects.

“Perhaps. But they would benefit from an alliance, there, should it come to fruition. We could bring in many more wares from the lakes, there. It’s all a matter of presentation.” 

“You’re mad.” Claude looks stern at first, but then he shakes his head. “Mad enough that it may work. They’re beholden to their beliefs, and with the prince in our possession, there wouldn’t be much they could do without risking him.” 

“They could still fight.” 

“That’s true. They could. And if they do, then we will fight back. We’ll not have lost anything for trying.” 

There’s a murmur of assent around the room, and Ivan nods. 

“I’ll need a priest. Preferably one familiar with their customs. I want this done right, so they’ve no room for objection; send them to me as soon as one is found. We’ll need to move quickly.” 

The council takes it for the dismissal it is. Travis is the only one to approach him, waiting until the others have cleared the room before speaking in a sharp whisper. “You said you wouldn’t harm him.” 

“I don’t intend to. Trust me, Travis. Will you?” Ivan holds eye contact with his friend, sighing in relief when he finally nods. “There are things I have to play close to my chest, but I promise his well being is in no danger from me. That, you must keep to yourself, please.” 

“Of course. I’m sorry for my doubt.” 

“It’s alright. Now, please. Go rest. See your parents. I know you’ve been here more than at home. When arrangements are made, I will send for you.” 

“Yes, m’lord.” Travis bows out, giving Ivan a little smirk as he rolls his eyes. They’ve never stood on most of the propriety expected of them, but sometimes they’ll make a show of it just for appearances sake. 

Claude maintains his silence until they’re safely behind the door of Ivan’s rooms. “You truly intend to do this?” 

“I do.” 

Dragging a chair out from the table, Claude sits heavily. “It’s a risky move. Even if it works, you’ll be married to a man who will likely loathe you for life.” 

“If it works, it will be worth it. If not … Well, hardly a person in the realm will fault me for seeking my pleasures elsewhere, should I live so long.” 

“You’ll lack heirs.” 

“I know.” Taking the seat across from his advisor, Ivan shrugs. “It’s unlikely I would have ever taken a wife. But I think you know this.” He pauses long enough to allow Claude to nod. “I knew Vladimir and his sons were going to inherit when I found more boys catching my eye than girls. I’ve made my peace with that long since.” 

“And your soon-to-be-husband?” 

“I guess it will depend on if he comes around. It would be a simple matter to contain him to the castle, or just to a wing if necessary. He’s more valuable alive and well than otherwise.” 

All he gets in response from Claude is a contemplative hum. The silence that settles in after is comfortable, only broken when Claude gets up to pour them wine, pushing a cup across the table to Ivan. They raise their cups together, offering their own wishes to their gods as they drink. 

Ivan’s councilmen work quickly; it’s later that day when he receives word via a page that a priest has been found and has been summoned to the castle. Preparations are made for his arrival, and Ivan waits on the steps of the castle with a small contingent of his men to greet him. The man is solemn-faced, heavy-browed and quiet as he greets Ivan, following him respectfully into the castle. He seems neither surprised nor satisfied by the meal that has been lain out; instead, he merely accepts his seat with that same quiet grace. 

“You’ve been told why I asked you here?” Ivan starts as soon as everyone is settled. 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“You’re versed in the Ontario tradition?” 

“Yes. I did some of my service there when things were more amicable between our nations. I performed several marriages following their custom.” 

“And you’d be willing to perform this ceremony I’m asking of you?” 

The man turns dark eyes on him, assessing. It’s bold, but Ivan’s people have always held their priests in high esteem. Ivan waits it out, keeping his expression relaxed. 

“Yes, my lord. I would.” 

“Very good.” Ivan lets the conversation drop for a bit, allowing the others at the table to pick up other topics. The priest seems calm, unphased as he eats and drinks. Members of the priesthood were always rather odd, inscrutable and withdrawn. Ivan had been used to it, attending regularly with his mother when he was young; since he had taken the throne, there had hardly been time for prayer other than on the battlefield and in his bed at night. He always hoped that the gods would be understanding and often asked their mercy. 

“I would like the ceremony to take place as soon as possible,” he goes on, picking up the conversation as soon as the priest had finished his meal. The man sips at his water, nodding. 

“Of course. Time is invaluable in periods of war.” 

“Whatever you need, we will ready it. And anything I need to do to prepare, I will.” 

“I know.” The man smiles, then, and it lightens his face to a youthfulness that catches Ivan off guard. “You will do much for your people. That’s clear. That’s why I agreed to come. A day hence should be plenty of time. Ready your halls; you will need witnesses. And formal garb that can be burned. They will also expect proof of consummation, either by witness or by the sheets of the marriage bed.” 

The last sucks the air from Ivan’s lungs and he does his best not to let it show. He hadn’t known remembered the latter; it was hardly acceptable in his kingdom to even think of such a thing. He finds his mind racing to find ways around it, even as the priest goes on. 

“Marriage will need to take place at sunrise. That is the only other thing they stipulate.” 

“And my intended?” 

“Need only be there.” 

Ivan nods. That’s simple, at least. Mitch may not be a willing participant in the ceremony itself, but having nothing more expected of him than to be there makes things easier. It’s hardly his ideal wedding, but the chances of that ever happening had been slim to begin with. 

The day of preparation passes faster than Ivan would have expected. He bathes and gets a blessing, laying out the clothes he will wear to be blessed as well. Even though he’s sure Mitch will refuse them, he sends for the best garb he can find on such short notice. All the while, he has the issue of the consummation hanging over him, unsure of what he should do, what would suffice. 

It’s cold and dark when Claude rouses him. Ivan dresses in silence, drinking only water before leaving his quarters. He’s hardly surprised when Mitch is brought into view still wearing the clothes he’d been given to replace his bloody ones, ankles in shackles to keep his steps at a shuffle. Travis shakes his head, holding up the evidently rejected robes. 

Mitch doesn’t speak until he’s brought forth to stand in front of the throne with Ivan, pushed to kneel before the priest. He rears back suddenly, trying to stand despite the heavy hands of his guard on his shoulders. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I don’t - No!” he shouts, obviously catching on as the priest begins to read the rites from the heavy, weathered tome in his hands. Mitch keeps yelling and struggling, forcing another guard to step forward. With one on each arm, they manage to keep him mostly in place through the long ceremony. 

The sun has risen truly by the time the priest closes the book, pulling a bottle of anointing oil from within his robes. Ivan winces when one guard fists his hand in Mitch’s long hair, holding him still enough to allow the priest to swipe his thumb over Mitch’s forehead. Ivan gets the same treatment, and he notes how Mitch is now sagging in the guards’ hold, quiet. 

He stays quiet throughout the presentation of them as King and King consort, the polite applause of his knights and council the only sound in the room. There are more when they enter the dining hall, as many members of the peerage in attendance on such short notice. They all hope for peace, discussing the possibilities over food and drink and all the while Mitch is silent at Ivan’s side, refusing to eat even when Ivan puts portions on his plate. 

Ivan’s ready for it when Mitch finally breaks. He’s aired out the spousal suite attached to his rooms, had it cleared of anything that Mitch could use as a weapon, and that’s where he takes his new husband. The moment the door is shut behind them, Mitch lunges. Ivan’s not as tall as Mitch, but he’s thicker and heavier. He grunts as Mitch’s weight hits him, and they land on the floor, rolling across it. Mitch  _ is _ a fighter; he lands a few good punches before Ivan manages to pin him. Bearing down with all his weight, Ivan holds his position as Mitch curses and bucks, trying to throw him off. 

“You’re going to have to kill me before I let you take me,” Mitch bites out, doing his best to lean up and snap at Ivan’s face with his teeth. He’s vicious and beautiful; Ivan kind of hates how charmed he is. 

The racket, of course, drew Claude’s attention, and he’s pushing the door open in short order. “Ivan are you -” 

“Fine. Bring me my knife and a cup.” There’s a moment of hesitation before Claude’s bootsteps cross the floor, returning quickly. “Help me hold him.” 

Claude takes one of Mitch’s wrists, pinning it to the floor. Ivan picks up the knife, drawing it quickly across his upper arm and pressing the cup just below the cut. It takes some doing to keep Mitch still, and they get nearly as much blood on the floor and smeared across Mitch’s skin as they do in the cup, but it’ll do. 

Ivan sets the cup aside, pulling a cloth from his pocket to staunch the flow of blood. At his nod, Claude pulls a flask from his robes. He pinches Mitch’s nose, holding it until Mitch gasps for breath and he quickly dumps the contents of the flask into his mouth. Most of it Mitch sputters out, but he swallows enough that, after a while, his eyes start to flutter shut and his body gradually goes limp.

Claude draws back as soon as Ivan does, and, together, they haul Mitch upright, depositing him on the bed. He tries weakly to resist, but the medicine in his system keeps him from fighting too hard. Ivan ties the cloth around the cut on his arm, and they leave him on the bed, scooping up the cup and knife before locking the door behind him. 

“Do I want to know what that was about?” Claude asks softly. 

“I doubt it. Do you trust me?” 

“Always.” Claude takes his leave, then, and Ivan sighs in relief. He knows he doesn’t have much time before the blood begins to turn. He doesn’t want to have to do this again. 

The sheets on his bed are finer than what he normally uses; they had been a gift that he’d immediately had one of his servants put on. Swirling the cup contemplatively, Ivan studies the bed. None of his bed partners had ever bled; he’d made sure of that. Now, he has to decide how best to make it look convincing without letting it appear as though he’d truly harmed the prince. 

Dipping his fingers in the cup, Ivan drips blood near the center, letting some soak in and smearing little streaks of it until he’s satisfied. He hates the thought of it, but he hopes that it will pass for what he intends it to be - proof of their consummation. Tossing the rest of the blood from the window, Ivan rinses it in the basin, cleaning his hands there as well before he goes to check on Mitch. 

Drugging him had been a risk; Mitch hadn’t had a sip of the wine Ivan set out for him, forcing him to improvise. He’s still breathing deep and even, and his cheeks are still rosy. He’s attractive. Ivan can admit that to himself in this moment of privacy. Getting him a cup of clean water, Ivan leaves it on the bedside and locks the door. He has a brief amount of time before Mitch wakes, so he settles into the last of his preparations. Grateful that Claude had taken his leave, Ivan strips himself bare and kneels on the bed. He closes his eyes to block out the sight of bloody sheets as he strokes himself, thinking of Mitch’s pretty face and Brock’s strong, tight body. It takes longer than he would like to find his release, but does, eventually, letting it splatter across the bedding. 

Climbing down from the bed, Ivan only pulls his trousers back on. He has time before the medicine in Mitch’s system will wear off, and he takes that time to pen a missive to his new in-laws. 

Mitch announces his rousing by pounding on the door, yelling muffled by the thick wood, but Ivan can tell they’re curse words all the same. It’s only then that Ivan goes to the door, sending the page nearby off to fetch the priest and Claude. Claude’s expression is unreadable as they enter the room. The priest, for his part, seems unbothered by Mitch’s yelling. He casts an eye over the bed and nods. 

“That should suffice. You will have them wrapped and sent I imagine?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then here.” The priest pulls a scroll from within his robes that proves to be a written decree of marriage. “Send this along with them. Your marriage is official, in their eyes.” 

“Thank you. Your quarters are open to you if you would like to stay. Otherwise, my men will see you safely home.” 

“My lord.” Bowing his head respectfully, the priest follows the page back out, leaving only Ivan and Claude in the room. Mitch has quieted, likely trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“Clever. I’ll take these, then?” Claude asks, gesturing toward the bed. They strip the sheets, folding them up into a neat bundle. They’ll be sent to Mitch’s father, along with the marriage decree and Ivan’s own letter. He offers up a prayer to the gods, hoping that his gambit works. 

Of course, Mitch manages to keep Ivan on his toes all on his own. He’s crafty and moody, so much so that Ivan is forced to confine him to the bridal quarters attached to his. On both occasions that Ivan had allowed the guard to take him to the bath house, Mitch had tried to run, only to be recaptured by the wall guards. There are near permanent bruises around Mitch’s wrists from the guards’ hands, and Ivan winces internally to see them. 

“My father won’t cede to you, I don’t care what you think,” Mitch bites out, ignoring the food on his plate in favor of glaring at Ivan. 

“You should eat. You’ll need your strength,” is all Ivan says back. He glances at Travis; he knows his friend is weary of the tension, of keeping Mitch prisoner. As expected, he’s barely picking at his food, eyes averted. 

“Why? So I can struggle for you when you finally decide to take me?” 

That, it seems, is the last straw for Travis. He stands and excuses himself hastily, striding out of the room without glancing back. 

“Your second is weak,” Mitch snips, and that makes Ivan’s temper finally spike. He stands, fisting a hand in Mitch’s shirt and ignoring the smirk on the other man’s face. 

“My second is a compassionate man. One cannot rule with only ire, and keeping those of good heart in your company can steady too-ready fists. But you wouldn’t know that, would you little prince? Only sent out to do your father’s bidding, and not a word about wanting you back? They’ve already surrendered you to me, and they  _ will _ surrender the rest.” 

He leaves Mitch there, shackled to the chair and goes to find Travis. He finds him on the wall, staring out across the fields to the west as the sun goes down. Nothing is said as he takes up position next to him. 

“Travis-” Ivan starts at last, only to be cut off. 

“He’s right. You’ll have to take him eventually. It’s that or kill him, if you’re going to keep up this plan.” 

“It upsets you.” 

“Yes. I know you - you don’t want to harm him. But he will force you to.” Travis pauses, dropping his head against his arms. “I won’t deny that I hate the idea. I wish there was another way. But if - if they accept the treaty, then I know there isn’t.” 

“I’m sorry that I’ve put you in this position,” Ivan says softly. “If you would rather be reassigned, there are plenty of ways -” 

“No. No, I - I couldn’t stand that. Please.” 

“Of course. I just thought I would offer. I know this isn’t easy for you. I wish - it would be easier if he were less combative. You weren’t wrong about his spirit. I’m sure it serves him well in the field, but here… He sees your heart, and that’s where he’s aiming his barbs.” 

Travis nods. “I know. I promise, I will find a way to deal with this.” 

Reaching out to grip Travis’ shoulder, Ivan nods. “I know you will. But you can talk to me about your frustrations. Your concerns. I value your thoughts, so please don’t hide from me.” 

“Okay.” 

Together, they trudge back up toward the castle proper. It’s late, the sun setting and darkening the ground. Ivan muses as they cross the grounds, and he stops Travis with a hand on his arm. 

“The guards will have taken him back to his room by now. I know it’s not much comfort but perhaps . . . you would care to join me in the baths? I’ll send for some company for us.” 

Travis laughs low, eyes darting away. His cheeks glow in the soft light of evening, but he agrees. “Alright.” 

Ivan trusts his harem keeper to send someone appropriate, and he isn’t disappointed. He’s familiar enough with Lawson, but he keeps an eye on Travis, smiling to himself when his friend’s eyes sweep up and down the man’s body. Tyler slinks over to Ivan, a grin on his face and Ivan welcomes him into his arms readily. He’d been a gift from one of their allies, with the caveat that he not be turned into a solider. Ivan’s still not sure the Benns are pleased that Tyler is part of his royal harem, but Tyler seems content enough. He’s a sensual man, and any further musings slip from Ivan’s mind as Tyler sinks to his knees. 

Glancing up, Ivan’s surprised to see Travis bent over the edge of one of the tubs, eyes closed in pleasure as Lawson opens him with oil. Ivan drops his gaze back to Tyler, because he knows the man likes praise and attention. It’s easy to thumb over his cheek and watch as Tyler wraps his lips around the head of Ivan’s cock. 

A sound makes Ivan look up again. He finds Lawson sinking in, one big palm spread on Travis’ back. Travis groans long and low as Lawson enters him and Ivan can’t quite tear his eyes away. He looks down long enough to try to apologize to Tyler, but Tyler simply pulls off, kissing the tip of his cock. 

“Watch them. I don’t mind,” he murmurs before sliding his mouth back down onto Ivan. Ivan shouldn’t need permission, but it’s easier to give in to what he wants knowing Tyler won’t be put off by his inattentiveness. 

Petting through Tyler’s hair, Ivan watches as Lawson takes his friend hard and quick. Travis’ eyes are still closed and he grunts with every body-rocking thrust. Steam from the baths beads on their bodies, making them glisten. A soft moan from Tyler vibrates around Ivan’s cock and he moans in response, thankfully not loud enough to draw attention to himself. 

Ivan thrusts shallowly, but quickly into Tyler’s mouth while Travis is taken. He shudders when he’s close, hearing Travis’ moans rise in volume and he spends hard and fast into Tyler’s waiting mouth. The man licks Ivan’s cock clean and grins up at him from the floor. Ivan thumbs a bit of spit and his own release from Tyler’s lip, pushing into his mouth to watch him suck it off. He’s helping Tyler to his feet when Travis comes, a low, bitten-off groan. Lawson isn’t far behind, and the aftermath of his orgasm leaves the bathhouse quiet. 

“Get in the water and I’ll take care of this for you,” Ivan murmurs, gently toying with Tyler’s cock. Giving Ivan a little smirk, Tyler does as he’s told. Travis isn’t far behind, pink in the cheeks but obviously much more relaxed than he had been. 

Lawson and Tyler settle a respectful distance away from them at first, until Ivan reaches for Tyler again. He draws Tyler into his lap and grabs one of the bottles from the edge of the bath. The oil helps ease the way even in water as Ivan nudges two fingers into Tyler, gripping his cock with the other and working him relentlessly. He’s beautifully flushed, brown hair curling in the steam as he unabashedly takes his pleasure. Ivan watches him intently, feeling his own interest stir a little, but it’s far too soon for him to become fully aroused. Still, he enjoys giving his partners pleasure, and the courtesans are no difference. Tyler holds nothing back from them as he tosses his hair back, muscles tightening as he jerks with release, spilling onto Ivan’s hand. 

“Beautiful,” Travis comments, and Ivan hums in agreement. As expected, Tyler smiles at the praise, less mischievous now that he’s been pleasured. Readily, the two courtesans pick up cloths and begin to bathe their respective partners. It’s nice to have confident, skilled hands on his body even for this, and Ivan sighs into it. He glances at Travis to find his friend’s eyes closed as Lawson works the cloth over his arms and down his chest. 

As though sensing Ivan’s gaze, Travis cracks an eye to look back at him. “Thank you. You were right. I know that you’re doing what you must. It’s easy to forget that I have more choice than you do. More freedom, because only my life rests in my hands most of the time. You have the lives of the country. But this was much needed.” 

“We all need to bask in simple pleasures, at times. It reminds us of what we fight for.” That gets a soft laugh from Tyler, who only leans in to give Ivan a kiss at his questioning look. 

“I’m glad I can bolster the resolve of our king,” Tyler offers teasingly, making Ivan and the others laugh. 

“You would bolster the resolve of any man fighting for you,” Ivan quips back. 

The courtesans bathe each other, touching seductively just to put on a show; not a one of them stirs again before it is time to get out of the bath and head for the castle. Lawson and Tyler bid their goodnight and slip off to the harem quarters while Ivan heads to his rooms, saying his farewell to Travis in the hall. His room is quiet; Mitch, hopefully, is asleep. He’d gone through a period of time when he had slept in the day and caused a racket all through the night, keeping Ivan awake or chasing him from his chambers just to get some rest. At last, Ivan had slipped a drug into his drink to make him sleep; he’d felt guilty for it and had to go in several times that night to make certain for himself that Mitch was still breathing, but the night time antics had ceased after that. 

Mitch always ate and drank what he was given; Ivan had half expected him to starve himself, but he’d chosen to keep up his strength, instead, in case the opportunity ever arose that he could use it. Many of these he’d taken; inattentive or less-skilled guards that had sounded the alarm the minute Mitch had given them the slip. 

Crawling into his bed, Ivan tries to shove any further thoughts of the other man away. He’s too soothed by sex and the hot bath to want to get himself wound back up again right now. 

* * *

Winter comes like a blanket, slowing the pace of the palace and the village with aching cold and heavy snow. Ivan had fretted about the people in the poorer towns, those in the borderlands most affected by the warring. He’d sent as much aid out as the city could spare without sacrificing itself and could only lean on the reassurance of his knights that the people were taken care of. He would take a tour, come spring, to make sure of his people’s well-being. 

Nolan, Misha, and Travis were taking turns to lead ambushes on trade caravans, bringing in their wares and sinking boats in the icy waters of the lakes along the borders. Every one is accompanied by another message to surrender, but the border skirmishes persist. The goods that can be salvaged are distributed to aid Ivan’s own people; much of it is lost in battle or in the lake, but he’ll take what he can. 

It rankles him to be put in this position, risking the lives of his men in harsh winter weather and cutting off the supply lines to innocent people, but Ivan steels himself and sticks to the plan. At night, he prays to the gods and his father’s spirit for guidance, clinging to his resolve when he wakes to only calmness in his chest.

  
  


* * *

The attacks on the border ease. That’s Ivan’s first sign. He can hardly believe it when the word comes. Immediately, he changes the soldiers orders from defense to aid; anything that can be recovered will help the people there survive the winter. The missive comes soon after, acknowledging the marriage and nothing more. It leaves Ivan on edge, which he’s sure is the intent. 

Another missive arrives nearly a fortnight later, announcing the King’s intent to meet to discuss the terms of the treaty Ivan had proposed in his initial message. 

“Surely it will be just an attack,” Claude says as soon as Ivan has finished reading the missive out loud, and Ivan sighs. 

“We will have to prepare for that possibility. We will have to prepare for many possibilities. Go, inform the men. Ready the castle for our visitors. He may hope to catch us unready and off guard by arriving sooner than he’s stated, and we will not let that happen.”

“Why would he give up his element of surprise at all?”

Ivan bites his lip and then shakes his head. “It’s strange to be sure; it’s possible he means to attempt destruction from the inside, or to sew the seeds of rebellion. The harshest weeks of winter are approaching quickly and it is a bleak time for many. Despite our best efforts, there are those who may well see him as a stronger king, one who could provide for them better.” The words are bitter on Ivan’s tongue, but he knows it’s true; many had been opposed to him taking the crown when his father had passed. They’d only been silenced by Ivan’s success and the lack of other heirs; his brother had been far too young and his father had no siblings. 

“Go,” he says softly, listening as Claude and Travis obey immediately, their boots crossing the floor and the door shutting behind them. He knows what he must do, and quickly. He has a bit more of the drug the apothecary had given him, although he’s not sure that drugging Mitch for what must happen is kinder than forcefully taking him. 

The guard that arrives to help give Mitch his evening meal doesn’t seem to notice the goblet of wine that has replaced the usual cup of water. One minds the door while the other takes Mitch’s tray in, swapping out the one from midday. There’s no sound in the room otherwise, but the guards seem unbothered. They bid Ivan goodnight and take their leave. Ivan locks the door behind them, slipping the key away so it’s hidden. 

He has to wait a while to be sure Mitch has had time to eat and that the drugs have taken effect before he raps on the door. There’s no sound from within so - carefully - Ivan swings the door open. 

Mitch is slumped at his desk, but Ivan can already see that a good portion of the wine has been spilt instead of drunk. He’ll have to work quickly. Ivan hauls Mitch up and drags him toward the bed, depositing him carefully. It’s a simple task to draw his pants down long legs as he’s no longer been afforded shoes or boots. His soft cock rests between his thighs, as pretty pink as his lips and the flush in his cheeks. Ivan strips, fetching a bottle of oil from his room before climbing up on the bed. Mitch doesn’t move, head lolling against the pillows. It’s a shame, really; Mitch is gorgeous and Ivan would much rather have him as a willing bedmate, but there’s no time for him to try to win the prince over now. 

Nudging Mitch’s legs apart, Ivan wets his fingers and pets lightly over his hole. Mitch is relaxed in his drugged slumber and his body accepts one finger easily. Ivan nudges in a second, prepping him as efficiently as possible. It’s hard to tell how long Mitch will stay asleep if he didn’t consume all of the wine, and Ivan wants to minimize the risk of a fight. 

Of course, it couldn’t be that simple. Mitch makes a soft sound when Ivan presses inside. His breathing changes as Ivan fucks him, chasing his release to get this over with as soon as he can. Mitch whines and moans quietly, starting to shift restlessly on the sheets just as Ivan starts to get close. Hazy blue eyes drift open and look up at him without a hint of recognition, at first; then Mitch is mumbling, trying to move. Ivan hates that Mitch’s squirming makes him go tight, drawing a gasp from his mouth that has Mitch’s attention back on him. 

“S-stop,” Mitch slurs, trying to reach up to push Ivan away, but he’s still too drugged to have any strength behind the shove. 

Pinning Mitch to the mattress, Ivan ruts in sharp and quick. He finds his release in a handful more strokes, and he can hear the broken sound Mitch makes below him. A lone tear trickles down Mitch’s temple and into his hair. He turns away when Ivan dips to kiss his forehead. 

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” Ivan murmurs, gently drawing out. There’s no blood, at least. Mitch kicks out at him, just slow enough that Ivan can dodge it. 

“You-You-” Mitch tries to speak but his mouth clearly isn’t cooperating yet. He manages to drag himself up to sitting, eyes going hazy before fixating on Ivan again. Ivan just watches, waiting. 

“Our marriage is binding. By your laws, no one else will have you, now.” It’s cruel, yes; Ivan watches Mitch’s eyes close in pain and another tear runs down his cheek. On impulse, Ivan steps close enough to cup that cheek and tilt Mitch’s face up. He catches Mitch’s wrist as the man swings at him, holding it tight. “I don’t want to keep you prisoner. You could have freedom, here. Consider it.” 

Leaving Mitch on the bed, Ivan gathers the wine cup and makes sure that Mitch has clean, fresh water before shutting the door behind him. On a whim, Ivan leaves it unlocked. If he’s going to allow Mitch any sort of freedom, he’s going to have to start testing him now. The outer door to his rooms is still locked, the key tucked safely away, so Ivan cleans up and eats his own meal. There are soft noises from the other room, but nothing distinct for a while. Eventually, there’s a knock on the door, and Ivan sits back from his desk. 

“It’s open,” he calls, loud enough that Mitch can hear him. There’s silence again for a beat or two before the handle turns and the door swings open. Mitch looks shocked that it actually opened. He takes in the room, stepping forward on wobbly legs. 

“W-why?” Mitch mumbles, voice still slurred. 

“Why did I take you? Because your father is forcing my hand. He’ll be here before the next moon. Why leave the door open? Because I want to see if you can be trusted. Like it or not, this is your home now, and there’s much more to it than your solitary room.” 

Mitch stares for a moment before stumbling back into his room, shutting the door behind him. 

* * *

A runner arrives before King Paul. The boy is only a few years younger than Mitch, sturdy and calm as he presents his message to Ivan. 

“Tell your master rooms await him and his men. My people will see to their horses. And any word of trouble caused by them will end all chance of civility for this meeting.” 

Ivan waits until the boy is out of sight to turn to a pair of guards. “Bring Mitch before his father arrives. Make sure he can’t run.” 

Clearly, the drugs Ivan had administered that morning had worn off when Mitch arrives struggling. He’d taken him again, a feeling telling him that King Paul would arrive today. His ankles are cuffed, only allowing him to take shuffling steps; tall boots protect the delicate skin there and he’s dressed in garb traditional of Ivan’s kingdom. 

He waits for the King on the steps. The man the guards escort to the front is not who Ivan expects, however. 

“Prince Christopher,” Ivan greets, doing his best to conceal his surprise. “I had thought that I would be meeting with your father.” 

“It’s King Christopher, actually.” There’s no keeping shock from crossing Ivan’s face at that, he’s sure, and Christopher acknowledges it with a brief dip of his head. “My father met with an unfortunate end; it’s been a difficult winter so far, as I’m sure you know.” 

There’s something there, a glimmer of regret in Christopher’s eyes that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Yes, of course. My men will show yours where you can bed your horses and there are rooms ready for you.” 

Christopher thanks Ivan in a murmur and follows him into the castle when most of his men have dispersed, leaving them only accompanied by Claude and Christopher’s own personal guard.

“I thought you would be hungry after your journey. Please, sit, and help yourselves. Your men -” Ivan’s cut off by a sharp cry and the rattle of a chair as Mitch bolts to his feet. 

“Chris?” 

“Mitch. Dear God.” Christopher all but bolts around the table to his brother, dragging him into a hug. Ivan waves for Claude to stand down, allowing the brothers their moment. “You’re alive. Are you well?” 

“I-” Mitch’s voice catches, and he mumbles the next words so quietly that Ivan can’t hear them across the room. Christopher looks down, obviously taking in the cuffs around his brother’s ankles. 

“You treat him like a prisoner,” he says, tone and expression accusatory as he turns to Ivan. 

“He’s tried to escape more than once. He has tenacity and guile; you should be proud.” Ivan takes his seat, gesturing to the open one near Mitch. “Please, join us.” 

Eventually, Christopher takes the invitation, his guard just behind him. Other men trickle in in pairs, one of Ivan’s for every one of Christopher’s until the table is nearly full. Taking them in, Ivan finds it’s easy to spot the priest and the doctor that have taken seats near the end of the table. It’s hardly a surprise, then, when Christpher sets his goblet aside and leans forward.

“You know we must confirm your consummation. Then we can talk . . . treaties.” 

Gesturing toward Claude and the other guards, Ivan gives his permission. “Take the priest and the doctor to one of extra rooms. Let them do their examination, then take Mitch back to our rooms.” 

Tight lines appear around Christophers’ mouth and eyes at Ivan’s confidence that they’ll find exactly what they expect to. A few long minutes pass before Christophers’ men return, upset clearly scrawled across the doctor’s face as the priest delivers the news to their king. 

“Their marriage is binding. The Prince is no longer pure.” 

Christopher nods solemnly, expression serene and blank. “Very well. Return the lands you’ve taken since last spring. I would also ask reparations for the losses we’ve suffered in trade due to your men's attacks.” 

“Retreat from our borders. If they stand the way they did when my father ruled, then I have no quarrel with your terms.” 

“Fine,” Christopher all but bites. “And my brother? I won’t see him treated as a concubine. He’s a prince, your king consort. Return him to me or treat him as such.” 

“Trade with us, and your brother’s comfort and status is guaranteed,” Ivan says smoothly. “Our allies would be pleased to have access to your goods; such an arrangement would serve you well.” It’s obviously not what Christopher expected to hear. He casts a sidelong glance at his men before sighing. 

“Agreed.” 

“Good. I will have the documents drawn up for us to sign. I’m sure you’re tired from your journey; if you’re finished eating, I can have my men show you to your rooms.” 

“I’d like to speak with my brother.” The words are soft, and Ivan pretends to consider it for a moment so as not to show his hand.

“Very well. Come with me.” Claude follows Ivan up to his rooms, putting himself between Ivan and the King and his guard. Mitch’s door is unlocked, and Ivan waves Christoper’s in. “He stays out here,” Ivan says, nodding toward Christopher’s guard. The man doesn’t look happy to be ordered to stay behind but obeys nonetheless. 

Ivan gives Christopher time, sitting in his chair by the fire with Claude at his side. He doesn’t remark on the redness of the other man’s eyes when he finally emerges. Claude silently leads them out to show the King to his quarters for the night. Ivan finds Mitch on the bed, looking at the floor with his hands folded in his lap. 

“I am sorry. Not that it’s worth much. But I promised your brother you would be cared for, here. I won’t ever touch you again and no harm will come to you so long as you don’t try to escape.” 

“I’ve no reason to believe you,” Mitch says softly, looking up at Ivan with sad, blue eyes. 

“It’s part of our treaty. And I’m a man of my word. That’s all I have to offer.” Ivan pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Let me take those off you so you can rest.” He gestures at the cuffs around Mitch’s ankles.

“I could run.” 

“You could.” Ivan pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks the cuffs, taking them with him. He leaves the door open, but Mitch gets up to shut it himself. 

Discussing trades and acceptable routes and costs takes a few more days. Ivan pens missives to his other allies and secures King Christopher’s signature on both those and the final treaty. Mitch practically vibrates against him as they see his brother off with restored supplies and a new horse as a gift. He doesn’t try to run, at least, and Ivan takes it for the small victory that it is. 

  
  


* * *

Winter wears on, the days getting shorter and colder. The servants keep the fire in Ivan’s room stoked high to ward off the chill, and it doesn’t escape Ivan’s notice that Mitch starts to leave his door open except for when he’s changing. Heavy snowfall keeps the residents of the castle confined indoors more often than not. 

Ivan passes some of his time monitoring reports that trickle in from around the kingdom. Most of the people are doing well, even those in the borderlands. He can arrange for additional aid to the areas that are struggling more fairly easily on paper, but the trick is gathering experienced and willing men to navigate the roads in winter. 

The rest of the time he spends reading and studying, or walking about the grounds with Travis. He finds himself frequenting the harem more often than he normally would just to pass the time. Brock has become one of his favorites, the first one to approach now when Ivan enters the suites. 

Mitch has yet to try escaping since his brother’s visit. Ivan chalks it up mostly up to winterfall; trying to escape now would surely lead to death unless he had someone ready and waiting to help him cross the border. Even then, he would need someone experienced and those Ivan would trust to do it are almost entirely in his personal employ. 

Mitch still keeps to himself, for the most part, enjoying the access to their wing of the castle when Ivan isn’t around. It’s a surprise, then, when Ivan finds Mitch sitting by the fire when he comes in late from checking in with the perimeter guards. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a steaming mug in his lap. He startles when the door shuts, trying to scramble to his feet, and Ivan almost regrets making his presence known. 

“You can stay. I’m sure it’s chilly in your room; the night has gotten quite cold.” 

“Thank you,” Mitch says softly, settling back down. He casts nervous glances over his shoulder at Ivan until he settles at his desk. There’s not much work to be done at the moment, but he draws out a sheaf of paper and a quill anyway, settling in to write. 

The dark takes over quickly, and Ivan finds he’s not willing to push on into the night. He stands and immediately meets Mitch’s nervous gaze. “I’m going to ready for sleep. If you’d like, you may sleep here, with me. I swear I won’t touch you. I would rather not see you fall ill because of the chill.” 

Mitch doesn’t say anything, so Ivan strips down and crawls beneath his blankets. He’s nearly asleep when the bed next to him dips. He doesn’t roll over, and eventually Mitch stills, his breaths going slow and deep. Ivan doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes with Mitch pressed against his side, the blankets and the shared heat of their bodies the only things protecting them from the chill of the room. The sun has yet to rise, but Ivan imagines a servant will be by soon to re-stoke the fire. He could do it himself, but he’s loathe to move and to wake Mitch, who is dead asleep against his shoulder. 

The next time Ivan wakes, the room is warm again. Mitch is still curled into his side, sound asleep, and the rays of daylight are peeking through the window. A soft knock comes, and a servant brings in food for them both, giving Ivan a little curtsey before she leaves as quietly as she came. With a sigh, Ivan gives Mitch a little nudge. 

“Mitch. They’ve brought our breakfast. We should eat while it’s hot.” There’s a moment when Mitch is clearly not quite awake, and he yawns, almost nuzzling back down. Then he’s bolting upright out of Ivan’s arms. 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, climbing out of the bed. “I’ll just-” he makes to grab his food, nearly spilling the hot tea in his haste. 

“You don’t need to apologize, or leave. It was cold, and these rooms are yours as well.” 

Despite Ivan’s gentle protest, Mitch still takes his leave, swinging his door most of the way shut. Ivan sighs and pulls himself out of bed, settling in to eat. The oatmeal is hot and sweet with a chunk of preserved honey, warming him from the inside with the help of the tea. He notes that there’s a large platter of cooked meat left untouched and he shifts half of it onto his empty bowl, carrying the rest with him to rap on Mitch’s door. 

“There’s meat. I’ve brought you half,” he says, pushing the door slightly open. Mitch stands, looking wary even as he crosses the room to take the plate wordlessly; still, he leaves the door open instead of shutting it behind Ivan. 

It’s not the last night that Ivan finds he has company in his bed. Mitch often slips in after he thinks Ivan has fallen asleep and - more than once - Ivan has woken to his husband curled in his arms. Mitch always leaves as soon as he awakes, though, and spends most of his time away from Ivan despite the chill that must persist in his room. Ivan feels a bit cruel, but the depths of winter allow him time to spend in his own rooms, the demands for his attention lessened and giving him a bit more freedom. This means Mitch must make the choice to spend time where he will despite Ivan’s presence, or stay confined to his chilly quarters. 

“Am I such bad company?” he finally asks softly when Mitch gathers up his books with the intent to flee the small library their wing boasts. There’s a spark of the fire Ivan saw when Mitch first arrived, blue eyes flashing as Mitch snatches up a stray piece of parchment. 

“You took me hostage, forced me to marry you, and you - you  _ raped _ me. What is it you’ve done that you should think I would forgive you that?” 

“What have I done that any husband your father might have chosen for you would not have?” Ivan counters. He doesn’t miss Mitch’s flinch at that, his gaze darting away from Ivan’s. “Hate me if you will, I suppose, but don’t think any other potential arrangement would’ve ended much differently. You’re smarter than that.” 

Mitch deflates slightly but still takes his things and leaves. Ivan slips a marker into his book, abandoning it to head downstairs. He could visit the harem again, but Brock’s look has grown knowing, as though he senses Ivan’s troubles with his husband. Of course, he could lay with another and not a one of them has any right to pass judgement upon him, but he would still rather not stir up more speculation than need be. 

As he wanders, Ivan finds Travis in one of the halls, playing with a small group of children - sons and daughters of some of the servants, Ivan imagines - and a litter of tiny, bumbling pups, whose mother is napping nearby. He gets a few nervous looks from the older children, but when none of the others pay him any mind, they go back to their game. Ivan sits with Travis, readily taking one of the small pups that Travis hands him. It’s the smallest of the bunch, Ivan realizes, a runt who shivers with cold when set down, unlike his brothers and sisters who seem heedless of the chill that clings to the stone floor. 

“I might hand raise that one,” Travis murmurs. “I don’t know that he’ll make it out in the barns with the others, and Shayne already has his hands full with a litter whose mom got kicked by a horse.” 

“Whatever you like, you know that. I’m sure he’ll grow up fine with a little extra attention.” Ivan cuddles the pup close to his chest and rubs his small back slowly. The pup lets out a tiny sigh and eventually falls asleep. His mother comes over to investigate, sticking her nose against the pup and sniffing before wandering off to check on the others. Travis groans when one pup squats and pees, knowing that he’ll be the one stuck cleaning it up since he brought the animals inside. 

“What’s on your mind?” Travis’ words draw Ivan from his thoughts and he sighs. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“With your war bride?” The tone is curious instead of judgmental, and - not for the first time - Ivan thanks the gods for sending him a friend as good as Travis. 

“Yes. He seems . . . incredibly unhappy.” 

“He may always feel that way. But - forgive me for saying - it may help if he wasn’t so confined.” 

“He has the wing,” Ivan says defensively, but part of him already knows that Travis is right. 

“Your wing, that you’re often in, especially in winter. He has no space from you, no privacy for himself other than the room he likely sees as a jail cell.”

Sighing, Ivan nods, leaning back against the wall. “You think he can handle having run of the castle?” 

“I think the guards can handle it if he doesn’t. Basically the same difference, right?” Travis lets that sink in for a moment before shooting Ivan a sly look. “Besides, I think Brock’s body could use some time to recover from your attentions. The other boys have been mocking him for his limp.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Ivan whispers, trying not to let the children overhear. His cheeks are hot and give him away, though, and Travis laughs at that. 

“You’ve many beautiful people in your harem; give the boy a break for a bit at least.” 

“I worry people will say Mitch is frigid. They’re already going to dislike him as their King Consort, though it hardly matters when it’s all said and done.” 

“Ah, you’ll hardly be the first king left unsatisfied by his marital bed. So long as you don’t father any illegitimate heirs, I don’t think too many tongues will wag.” 

“My father was so loyal to my mother, though. It . . . weighs on me, that I might not be doing him proud,” Ivan admits quietly. Honestly, he’s glad his mother retired with his siblings to an estate further west, away from the battlefields and castle life. He’s not sure he could face any one of them right now, especially not with the matter of Mitch hanging over him. 

“You’re as good a man as your father was,” Travis swears vehemently. “You put all above yourself and your happiness; the only thing he could possibly despair of is your isolation.” 

“Isolation?” That comes as a surprise to Ivan, but Travis is already nodding. 

“I’m your closest friend, followed shortly by Claude, who is your bodyguard. Sure, you have Nolan and Misha as well, but when’s the last time you spent any time with people you cared about just to spend time with them? To eat and talk and relax?” 

Ivan hates to admit it, but he knows that Travis is right. It’s been months since he’d done anything of the sort, and over a year since he actually saw his family in person. He writes his mother every week, but it’s hardly the same as seeing her and his siblings in the flesh. 

“I don’t mean to sound harsh,” Travis goes on, reaching out to briefly clasp Ivan’s shoulder. “I just worry. This war, the situation with the prince, it has worn on you. Anyone paying attention can see it. Your father would be saddened to see you so driven but so lonely. Just . . . give it a chance. Let Mitch out to roam, to see if you can mend that relationship. Spend leisure time out of your rooms. And send for your family come spring; I know your brother must miss you dearly, nevermind your mother and sister.” 

“Alright,” Ivan says softly. “I - you’re not wrong. I’ll try.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing a finger along one of the pup’s soft ears. “I will let the guards know to let Mitch have access to the castle. When the thaw comes, we’ll expand to the grounds. If - if he comes to you, I trust your judgement. Nolan and Misha, too, if you’d let them know.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re … a balm to me. Do you think we’ve a chance of repairing our relationship, Mitch and I?” 

“Perhaps. You’ve not been particularly cruel to him, but he’s a prince in his own right. A fighter. It will be hard to say if or when he’ll be ready to give you a second chance. But I don’t think it’s out of the question. Having space and other people to talk to, interact with, that could change things. It’ll take patience, so it’s a good thing you’ve plenty of that.”   
  
  


* * *

Mitch seems unwilling, at first, to take Ivan at his word that he has access to the castle in its entirety. Like before, Ivan simply leaves doors unlocked until Mitch slips out. It’s hard not to worry, to go in search of him, but Ivan steels himself and stays busy. He’s arranged for a card game with several of his men, including Travis, Nolan, and Misha. The kitchen had brought up a barrel of ale for the occasion and servants stoked a fire in the smaller hall to warm the space well ahead of time. 

Ivan allows himself to sink into the comfort of food, good ale, and laughter. It’s a rare indulgence, and he feels a touch dizzy with elation and alcohol as he stumbles his way up to bed. He’s more surprised than he should be, perhaps, to find Mitch there, curled under the blankets and asleep - at least until Ivan stumbles into a chair, the legs of it clattering across the stone floor. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, sitting down on the chair to tug at his boots and socks, abandoning them on the floor. Ivan stumbles his way toward the bed, falling into it with a sigh. He finds Mitch looking at him tensely and closes his eyes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Don’t . . . don’t touch me.” 

Ivan blinks his eyes open, confused, but he can still grasp the worry on Mitch’s face. “I won’t. I swore I wouldn’t. Sleep.” 

He knows nothing after that until morning, cursing Travis as soon as he wakes and the light of the day makes his head throb. His mouth is dry and foul, and he drags himself out of bed to relieve himself and drink. Splashing water over his face to try to refresh himself, Ivan slumps back against the wall. Mitch is already gone, and - truthfully - Ivan can’t blame him. 

“Way to make a fool of yourself,” Ivan grumbles to himself. He changes out of his clothes, donning a robe and heading for the baths. They’re rolling with heat already, Travis reclined against the side of one tub with his eyes closed. 

“You’re a terrible friend,” Ivan calls, laughing when Travis startles. 

“I didn’t feed you ale. You partook of that of your own volition.” Closing his eyes again, Travis leans back and sighs. “Claude was wiser than us and had the servants stoke the fires for the baths as soon as they awoke. He’s already gone for breakfast.” 

Shedding his robe, Ivan climbs in the bath with Travis, taking advantage of the same shelf so he can sit submerged. The water is deliciously hot and soothing, and the steam helps Ivan’s head slightly. He knows he’ll need food and ample water, but this is satisfying for now. 

“I’m never taking your advice again.” 

Travis snorts, shifting enough to cause ripples in the water. “Why, so you can be an old man at 23? Someone has to keep you lively.” 

“I feel far more like death than life.” 

All he gets in response to that is a hum. Eventually, Travis starts to wash himself properly and Ivan follows suit. They climb out and head to the dining hall together, eager for something to soothe the rolling of their stomachs. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise to see Mitch there, sat apart from most of the people at the table, but talking softly with Misha. He looks as though he’ll leave until Ivan has passed them and Misha draws him back into conversation. Doing his best to mind his business, Ivan puts several helpings of food on his plate and digs in, drinking as much of a pitcher of water as he can stomach in between bites. Travis does much the same beside him, but knocks their shoulders together to get Ivan’s attention after a while. 

Nodding his head down the table, Travis draws Ivan’s gaze back to Mitch. He’s gesturing as he talks with Misha, a small smile on his face, and Ivan feels stunned. He nods, to let Travis know that he’s seen. 

“He wants to train,” Misha tells him later. “With wooden swords, I don’t see the harm.” 

“I agree. I - as long as someone accompanies him,” Ivan murmurs. 

“Of course. Everyone knows to keep an eye on him.” 

Nearly every day, Mitch is out of bed earlier than Ivan, gone off to do something in the castle. Ivan knows he’s training with Misha, and occasionally goes to the barns with Travis. Ivan has to admit, Travis was right about the space. He’s more relaxed without the constant friction with Mitch, and he has to assume that Mitch feels much the same way. Mitch still shares his bed, his own room long abandoned in favor of warmth. Ivan has to wonder if that will change when the thaw comes, but that time seems far off yet. 

Winter keeps them in her clutches, though the days slowly but surely grow longer. It’s a relief, really, when the first warm day frees the grass and Ivan realizes it’s already faintly green. He steps out into the cool air to watch as Travis’ pup gambols with its siblings. It’s still not as big as the others and quick to return to its master, but it survived the winter on the milk and meat scraps Travis attentively fed it. After taking a tumble into a puddle, the pup whines and pads back to Travis, muddying his pants as it paws at him to be picked up. 

“You seem to have a toddler instead of a puppy,” Ivan quips. Travis sighs long-sufferingly and looks down at the dog in his arms. 

“Don’t I know it. Come, scoundrel, lets clean us up before we make a bigger mess than of ourselves.” 

Heading out onto the lawn, Ivan feels it as his boots sink slightly in the soft ground. He strolls slowly, careful to avoid particularly soft spots, but just enjoying the outdoors. A few of the stable boys are brushing out horses, and that’s where Ivan finds Mitch, trying to tempt an old mare to accept a winter apple as a treat. 

“She’ll like the oats better,” Ivan calls softly, wary of scaring Mitch off. Sure enough, Mitch stiffens as he catches sight of Ivan, but he relaxes just as quickly. 

“That so? She doesn’t seem to like much.” 

“She never has. My father bought her for my brother, but she turned out to be far too contrary to be a child’s horse.” Scooping a handful of oats from one of the buckets, Ivan carefully approaches Mitch, pouring them into his hand without touching. He takes a step back, not wanting to push too much. Mitch offers them to the old mare, who nuzzles his hand a little before taking the oats. He pets gently at her nose, wiping his sticky hand on his pants. 

“Were you looking for me?” he asks, tone tired. 

“No. I was out for a walk. I thought to enjoy the sunshine and warmth while it lasts. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you.” 

“It’s your castle.” 

“Regardless. I know my presence causes you discomfort. I did want to apologize for how you were treated even after the treaty was signed. I hadn’t been living up to my promise to treat you as a true King Consort; you were still a prisoner, even if I had allowed you a larger degree of freedom. Anything you need, please let my men or myself know and we’ll do our best to get it for you.” 

“You’ve allowed me the grounds, but no further. One would say that I’m still a prisoner, as long as there are limitations on my freedom.” 

Ivan sighs. “I don’t wish to argue. I have my reasons, and it’s not as though another husband wouldn’t expect you to stay where he wanted.” 

At that, Mitch actually wilts. “I know. I - I won’t say that I like you or have forgiven you for what you’ve done, but in some aspects you have been kinder to me than my father ever told me to expect in a marriage.” 

Hearing Mitch say it is a surprise. Ivan’s not sure how to respond, certain Mitch would’ve just kept arguing. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. For now, is there anything you’d like or need?” 

Mitch chews his lip, glancing away from Ivan. He waits patiently, not wanting to press too hard when it feels as though they’re on the cusp of some type of understanding with each other. 

“I would like to write my brother, if I may. I worry, with the death of my father . . . I’m sure you understand.” 

“Surely, I do. I can have anyone bearing news be sure they deliver it to you as well, if you’d like.” 

“Please.” Ivan can tell there’s something more weighing on Mitch’s mind. Finally, he casts a nervous look at Ivan, looking back down before he speaks. “Shayne has offered me a runty pup from one of the litters; Travis had mentioned to him that I might like one since I enjoyed helping him care for his.” 

It’s not a question, but Ivan understands. “If you’d like, then it’s yours. Shayne and the kitchen staff will help you keep it fed.” 

“Thank you. Will - may I bring it to our rooms? Travis said he would help me train it to not make a mess inside.” 

“Of course you may. Our rooms are as much yours as mine, but I appreciate you asking.” If Mitch is surprised by Ivan’s answer, he doesn’t let it show. Not wanting to push his luck any further than he already has, Ivan bids him goodbye and heads back toward the castle. 

It’s a couple of days before a small pile of blankets appears in their room near the fireplace. The pup is runty indeed, a skinny, tiny girl pup that cries almost any time that Mitch isn’t holding her. The first night she spends with them, she cries near constantly. Ivan hears Mitch slide out of bed, picking her up and soothing her; he doesn’t return, choosing to sleep on his long-vacated bed in his suite. It happens again the next night, and Ivan sighs tiredly when the pup has been crying for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Mitch mumbles as he gets up. 

“She’s cold and likely lonely for her mother and siblings. Bring her to bed.” 

“I can take her in the other room.” 

“Then you’ll be cold as well. I don’t mind.” 

The pup is still whining softly when Mitch gets back into bed with her. He tucks a few of her blankets into a small nest between them and sets her inside, petting her until she quiets. Ivan wakes to the sight of Mitch with his hand on the pup, both of them sleeping soundly and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the curl of fondness that warms his chest. 

Ivan can see that Mitch worries about the pup. She’s not exactly thriving, and often makes runny messes in their room. He doesn’t say anything about it, just cleans up the ones he finds before Mitch does. Ivan’s not entirely sure what will happen if the pup doesn’t live, because Mitch starts dedicating all of his time to her care. 

“You’re good with her,” he offers quietly one night. Mitch is in a chair by the fire, pup cradled to his chest. 

“I fear she won’t make it.” The admission is surprising, but Ivan nods sympathetically. 

“It’s possible. But you’ve done more than most would. So many rarely take the time to look out for the small and the sick. Have you named her yet?” 

“No,” Mitch murmurs, petting over her little head. “I didn’t know if I should, if there was a point.” 

“Of course there is. She’s yours and you care for her.” 

Mitch is quiet for a long while after that. Ivan has already gone back to his book before he speaks again. 

“I thought I’d name her Alma.” 

“That’s a good name for a sweet girl,” Ivan says softly. He has to try hard not to stare as Mitch smiles to himself. 

Slowly but surely, the constant snow gives way to rain, that starts allowing longer and longer stretches of hours then days worth of sun. The shift in the season brings green grass and migratory birds. Little Alma’s health starts to improve and, with it, Mitch’s moods. She’s able to sleep on her own bed now, though she often cries and paws at their bed in an attempt to be allowed back up. They both give in more often than they should, but neither of them are strong enough men to deny her. 

Spring also brings Ivan to his next promise. He sends for his family, writing a letter first, and then sending a guard to escort them when his mother has sent correspondence back agreeing. He finds himself anxious, lingering near the gates until Claude finally has the guards shoo him off with promises to fetch him as soon as their party comes into sight. 

He nearly cries when he lands sights on his mother and siblings. He knows the hugs the gathers each of them into is too tight, but not a one of them complains. His mother teases him for his beard and his sister has grown to be nearly as tall as he is. It hits Ivan then that - soon enough - she will be seeking a suitor for her own, and that makes guilt and shame curl tightly in his gut. The mere thought of anyone taking her and doing to her what he’d done to Mitch dulls his excitement, but he does his best to put on a happy face. 

Of course, it’s nearly impossible for him to get anything past his mother. She waits until Alexandra and Vladimir are in bed to corner him in his own library, ensuring that it is empty of witnesses and the door is firmly shut and locked before turning an assessing eye on him. 

“Your husband. You told me of the circumstance, but you didn’t tell me everything, did you?” 

Hanging his head, Ivan sighs deeply before answering. “No. I didn’t - I couldn’t bring myself to. Please.” He still doesn’t want to tell her the full extent of things; she may find out in time, but seeing any fear or horror in her face at his behavior would break him, surely. 

“Do you regret it?” her voice is soft, now, but her gaze is still sharp. 

“That it hurt him, yes. That it ended a war and keeps our people safe? No.” 

She’s quiet for a moment longer before crossing the room, drawing him into her arms. “You will do the right thing, Vanya. I trust in that. Your war bride seems a sweet man. I hope that, for both your sakes, you’re able to find common ground and heal the bad blood between you. I never wanted you unhappy in marriage.” 

“I’m not unhappy, Mama.” 

Leaning back to look him in the face, she pats his cheek. “You aren’t happy either. I know you want to do what is right for our country. Your father would be proud. But sometimes feeling secure in doing right by our people and being happy in your own right are two very different things.” 

With that, she leaves him to muse. Mitch is already in bed, Alma curled up and sleeping soundly in her nest by the fire. Mitch murmurs sleepily when Ivan climbs into the bed next to him, but settles quickly. For a long while, Ivan stays awake, studying Mitch’s face and wondering. 

  
  


* * *

It’s one of the first hot days of the year, and Ivan’s seated on a rough-hewn bench in the practice area, watching his brother and his husband circle each other with wooden swords. Vladimir is young, quick and clever, but Mitch has a longer reach and much more skill. Abstractly, Ivan knew his husband was a good fighter; seeing him in action is a different thing. He’s careful not to hurt Vladimir. That much becomes obvious quickly when he avoids striking the boy too hard or in a place that would cause significant pain. Instead, he calls out instructions, teaching as he carefully backs Vladimir into a corner, eventually forcing the boy to surrender. 

He’s grinning as he bounds over to Ivan, energized despite his loss. Ivan listens to him chatter and adds his own critique and praise to what Mitch had already given. They’re interrupted when Mitch calls his name, looking nervous when Ivan looks up at him. Right away, he realizes what’s giving Mitch trouble: his sister is standing there, holding a sword and looking huffy. 

“She can fight. Sasha, be nice to him,” Ivan scolds. He watches with interest as the two circle each other, Vladimir quiet beside him. It goes about as well as he figures. Sasha doesn’t have Mitch’s skill, but she’s always been wily. She lands a couple of stinging blows that quickly put a stop to Mitch taking it as easy on her as he was Vladimir. Doggedly, Sasha pushes him until they’re both exhausted; she’s sweating enough to make her dress stick to her skin and Ivan knows he’s going to have to have the servant sneak her past their mother to keep her from getting lectured. 

“A draw!” he calls, getting a dirty look from his sister, but she does put her sword down. Mitch looks stunned as he stows away their weapons and crosses the field, his hesitancy around Ivan lost in the wake of what he’d just experienced. 

“She’s a wild cat!” he pants, wiping at his face. Vladimir laughs brightly and Ivan can’t help but chuckle as well. 

“She’s always been the more stubborn child. Father indulged her desire to train; Mother has tried to reign her in some since he passed, but I see she hasn’t been very successful.” 

Mitch is still shaking his head, going over to one of the buckets of drinking water and pulling himself a ladleful, dumping another over his face. “I’m going to the baths. If you ever want a sparring partner while you’re here, come find me,” Mitch calls to Sasha, who had been trying to straighten her wrinkled skirts. She waves at him with a grin. 

“I like him,” Vladimir tells Ivan quietly as they make their way back up to the castle; Ivan grabs a servant girl to sneak Sasha up to her rooms, hoping their mother is still entertaining some of her old friends in the parlor. 

“Mitch?” 

“Yes. He’s nice. He doesn’t treat me like a baby.” Ivan can’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair then, earning himself a put-out look as his brother tries to straighten his sweat-damp locks. “You two are apart a lot. Is . . . he not as nice to you?” 

“I wasn’t as nice to him, at the start. We didn’t want to marry but we had to.” Ivan keeps his voice soft, shutting the door to Vladimir’s room behind him and sitting with him on his bed.

“For the kingdom. That’s what Mama said.” Vladimir leans into his side; Ivan had missed this, the closeness with his siblings and especially his brother.

“Yes. I think we’re starting to be friends, maybe. I have a lot to make up for.” Vladimir just nods against him. His hair is sweatier than Ivan realized as he rests his cheek against his brother’s hair. “We should go to the baths ourselves. Mama isn’t going to be happy with either of us if you’re not presentable for her guests.” 

Vladimir sits up to wrinkle his nose at Ivan, but sets out to change out of his practice clothes, grabbing a robe to wear over them for the trip to the baths and back. They stop at Ivan’s room so he can do the same, making the trip down to the baths together. Mitch is still there, which Ivan hadn’t considered. Of course, there are many tubs, so they don’t need to share, but they’re still in close proximity. Ivan allows Vladimir to pick theirs, sinking into the hot water with a grateful sigh.

Vladimir wastes no time bathing, scrubbing his hair first and then washing his body; Ivan follows suit because he knows his mother may well expect his presence in her parlor as well. Mitch doesn’t speak, basking in his tub and they leave him alone right up until they’ve towelled off and tugged their robes back on. 

“Mitch? Mama has guests in one of the parlors,” Ivan calls softly. “I’m sure she would love to introduce you if you don’t mind entertaining some of her friends for a few hours. They’ll be joining us for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow, most likely.” 

“I would like that.” Mitch looks surprised to be invited, and Ivan feels that same guilt in his stomach.    
  
“We’re going to change now, then I can show you there?” 

“Okay. I’ll be along shortly.” 

Ivan changes quickly once he’s back in his room; he’s sure that Mitch would like his privacy, and would be more comfortable doing so if Ivan wasn’t naked also. They’ve always been clothed when together other than the few times Ivan had lain with Mitch, wearing at least underthings to bed. When Mitch arrives, Ivan goes to fetch Vladimir and Sasha, wanting to ensure that they’re attired to entertain before they come back for Mitch. 

He looks . . . beautiful, is the only word. Ivan had ordered the clothes he’s wearing now long ago, knowing Mitch would need them for special occasions eventually. He’s glad of it, now. The light blue and white fabrics contrast nicely with his dark hair while bringing out the blue of his eyes. Sasha giggles and that seems to break the spell, Ivan turning to shoot her a dark look. 

“Will this do?” Mitch asks nervously, glancing at each of them in turn like he’s not sure whose opinion he should be asking. 

“You look handsome. Escort me?” Sasha steps forward and loops her arm through Mitch’s. She’s doing the leading, but Mitch follows readily, leaving Ivan and Vladimir to follow behind. 

Ivan recognizes most of the people his mother has invited; he’s known them since he was small and his father was on the throne. Some are unfamiliar, but he quickly realizes that it’s because they’re people who were small when he and Sasha were, all adults or nearly-so, now. For appearances’ sake, Mitch stays close to him, playing the part of obedient husband. They don’t touch, much; no one would really expect them to because of the circumstances of their marriage so Ivan doesn’t worry about it. He introduces Mitch to all of their guests, allowing his siblings and mother to fill in the gaps when memory fails him. 

They wind up together on a loveseat, the irony of the name not lost on Ivan. Sasha keeps shooting him looks, smirking at Ivan any time they make eye contact. Thankfully, the presence of others keeps her from saying much. Ivan does his best to allow Mitch his personal space while being an attentive husband. Servants do the rounds with drinks and food, hovering in the background should any of them need anything. 

The late afternoon melts quickly into evening, and the small party relocates from the parlor to the dining room to join the castle population at large. Supper winds up being a lively affair, and Ivan lets himself enjoy it, only stepping back from the conversation flying around him to watch Mitch. It takes a little time, but Mitch engages in polite conversation with several of the people closest to him. He seems nervous and Ivan keeps an eye out just in case; he knows that Mitch as a public figure isn’t popular amongst his people, but the way his mother keeps drawing Mitch into her conversations seems to spare him the barbs of any ill will that may linger amid their guests. 

Ivan begs off when the ladies intend to return to their parlor for some games. Sasha joins their mother, but Mitch and Vladimir follow him upstairs. Alma bounds over to them and Mitch sighs, scooping her up; he’s already spotted the small puddle on the floor that is no doubt her doing, but Ivan waves him off. There’s a small pile of rags on the side table precisely for this purpose and he picks one up, sopping up the mess and dropping the rag in the bucket holding the others like it. 

“Thank you, but you needn’t do that. I can clean up after her. I brought her up here, after all,” Mitch says softly. He yawns in the next moment, sitting on the bed with Alma snuggled in his arms. It’s a risk, but Ivan sits beside him, reaching out to give the pup a brief scratch behind the ear. It doesn’t escape his notice that Mitch tenses until Ivan yawns himself. 

“I don’t mind. I enjoy having her here; she’s sweet and brings some liveliness to our rooms.” He pauses for a moment, petting down Alma’s back before speaking again. “I wanted to thank you for indulging my siblings. I love them dearly and haven’t seen them much in recent years.” 

“Your family has been very kind to me.” 

“They’re fond of you. I must admit, my mother was quite displeased with me when she realized the state of our relationship. I know that I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry that so much of your time here has been fraught and unpleasant. Nobody should have to live that way, especially for so long.” 

“It has . . . not been so bad, as of late,” Mitch says slowly. There’s a slight frown tugging at his lips as he speaks, as though he’s unsure of why he’s saying it. 

“I’m glad of that. I know that we may never be lovers or have any semblance of love between us, but I hope someday we can have an amicable relationship. Perhaps even friends.” Ivan looks up at Mitch then, setting his hand back in his own lap despite Alma’s wriggling plea for more pets. Blue eyes search his, seeking some sort of mistruth or manipulation and growing confused when he finds none. 

“Friends?” 

Ivan nods, glancing away briefly. “I know I don’t deserve it. But you will be here your whole life, barring any drastic events. It would be a miserable experience for us both, I think, if we were to be at odds the whole time.” 

“Yes. I know.” Mitch sighs then, dropping his gaze from Ivan’s. “Christopher said much the same thing in one of his letters. I had - I had asked about the possibility of returning home, but it’s - I could never be more than a visitor by our laws.” He seems tense, clutching Alma close. 

“I’m not angry that you asked that, Mitch. It’s understandable. Being far from home, with no one you know and none of the ones you love . . . I can’t imagine.” 

“Do you think - would I be able to go, sometime? To see my mother and brother.” 

The mere thought of it sends a spike of anxiety through Ivan but he nods. “I think so. Our countries are meant to be allies, now. I would like to keep it that way and to grow a bond, an understanding between us, because peace benefits us both.” He’s not sure if he’s talking about them or their countries or both, just now, but Mitch gives him a long look. 

“I agree,” Mitch says softly. I’m - I hope we can make things work.” 

* * *

Summer brings the start of the trade routes. Anxiously, Ivan monitors the reports sent back by his men, certain there will be trouble. Instead, goods begin to flow with relative ease. There are, of course, the occasional group of criminals who attempt to waylay the caravans, but his men are able to deal with most of them quickly. 

The castle bustles with life now that the roads are more easily travelled. Delegations from their allies arrive periodically, staying for a few days or weeks at a time. Ivan is grateful for his mother’s presence during this time; she helps guide him through the talks and re-negotiations of various trade agreements. 

There are rumors of a war trickling in from the far side of Ontario that Ivan keeps careful tabs on. He sees how it weighs on Mitch; he becomes pale and withdrawn, gaze unfocused when he’s not engaged in conversation or training with Vladimir and Sasha. Ivan gets a single, sharp look from his mother when she sees the dark shadows beneath Mitch’s eyes after he’d spent a string of restless nights being evaded by sleep.

The next night when Mitch’s tossing and turning prevents them both from sleeping, Ivan reaches out to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should get up and take a walk,” Mitch mumbles. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Instead of letting him crawl out of bed, Ivan gives his shoulder a squeeze. 

“I will send a missive for your brother tomorrow. We can afford to offer aid, and some of our allies may be persuaded to do so as well, if he’s in need of it.” 

Mitch settles on his side, then, facing Ivan. With only the light of the moon to aid him, Ivan can’t see much of his husband’s face, so all he can do is wait. “You would do that for me?” 

“I would. I know your brother is dear to you, and that he is new to his position even if he is older than I. If it hadn’t been for those with more experience coming to my aid, I know I would not have been as successful as I have been. If there is a way to avoid war, obviously I would much prefer that; but if there is no way around it, then we have supplies and men to offer. But please, Mitch. Rest. Not sleeping and eating isn’t going to help.” 

“Thank you.” Ivan doesn’t miss the way Mitch’s voice wobbles, but he lets him take refuge in the dark. 

It takes some time, of course, to get a response to his missive, but what he does get bodes well. Christopher is in talks with King Price, trying to negotiate a peace treaty. Some of his father’s old council have chosen to stand behind him; those that have disavowed their new king left empty positions that have Christopher fretful and - though he doesn’t say it explicitly in his response - doubting the likelihood that he’ll succeed. Ivan speaks with a few of his men - those he knows have taken a shine to or at least been kind to Mitch - about aiding their newest ally with their knowledge and experience. He’s grateful to get a couple of volunteers whom he sends to Ontario as soon as he receives word of acceptance from Christopher. 

It’s worth the rumors and the glares he gets from those on his council who staunchly dislike Mitch to see Mitch begin to relax with every letter he gets from his brother. The reports Ivan receives remain hopeful as negotiations go along. There’s a ceasefire and a temporary treaty in place while other things can be worked ou. The news of it reduces Mitch to tears; all Ivan can do is rub his shoulders and offer a kerchief to dry his eyes. 

“Chris never understood our father’s need to challenge others for more land, more people under his thumb. He would’ve hated it to have to go to war after spending all these fighting my father’s for him,” Mitch admits later in the safety of their bed. Alma’s wuffling in her place by the fire, the night pleasantly cool. It’s comfortable, and - after a while - Ivan finds himself listening to Mitch’s soft, even breaths.

His mother tracks him down when he’s watching Mitch and Vladimir spar. She stands serenely beside him, pretending she doesn’t see Sasha with her skirts tied up to keep them from getting dirty while she skillfully backs Misha into a corner. 

“He looks better,” she finally says, keeping her voice pitched low. 

“He’s sleeping again, and his appetite has improved.” It’s a surprise when his mother draws him into a brief hug, squeezing tightly for a moment before freeing him. Ivan can’t help but looking at her quizzically, getting a gentle pet to his cheek for his trouble. 

“I knew you would find ways to do right by him. No matter what others may tell you, trust your instincts, Vanya. Now, I must go before your sister sees me and tries to pretend she wasn’t sparring with one of your soldiers. Please make sure she’s presentable later? I’m expecting suitors for her this evening; though I expect perhaps you should send Misha along as well.” 

His mother leaves him with a final pat to the cheek, and a lightness in his heart he hasn’t known for some time. He laughs to himself when her words sink completely in, watching the smiles his sister and Misha exchange when she finally disarms him. 

  
  


* * *

Ivan’s starting to think there’s a conspiracy amongst his men. One of them is always bringing Mitch along to any of the activities going on around the castle; not that this is a bad thing, per se, but he finds himself in the company of his husband with more and more regularity. Mitch, for his part, doesn’t seem to have caught on, or - at least - is less worried about it than Ivan is. 

“I’m on to you,” Ivan mumbles at Misha, who just grins at him before settling down on the bench to watch the performers. Mitch is on Ivan’s other side, pressed close since nearly everyone had elected to come out to watch. He smiles as he takes in the song and recitations, laughing at the comedic pieces and blushing prettily at the bawdier ones. He flushes even darker when he catches Ivan’s eye after one, ducking his head and turning his attention back to the performance. 

Several of the men manage to get drunk on the ale one of the wagons had been selling, Travis included. He’d rounded up a couple others with the intent of visiting the harem, and Ivan’s surprised to see Mitch’s gaze following them. 

“You could go. I wouldn’t judge you or hold it against you.” He’s not ready for the way Mitch whirls on him, eyes stormy. 

“I - I wouldn’t, how could you-” He shakes his head, and Ivan wonders just how badly he’s mis-stepped. “I’m meant to be  _ faithful _ ,” Mitch finally hisses, and that’s when it clicks for Ivan. 

“I’m sorry. I forget, at times, how different our upbringings are. Here, it wouldn’t be seen as being unfaithful, not for royals. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Ivan keeps his words and voice gentle, and it seems to work. Mitch deflates a little at that. 

“It wouldn’t?” 

“Not at all. Perhaps if you lay with someone other than a courtesan or fathered children, but otherwise, no. But if you find the idea offensive, obviously no one will hold that against you, either.” 

“I would feel so guilty,” Mitch says softly, wrapping his arms around himself. It is still early spring, and the night had gotten colder the moment the sun had begun to set. Ivan half wants to reach for him, to hold him close and warm him up, but he’s certain his touch would still be unwelcome. 

Instead, he reaches a hand out, feeling a little awestruck when Mitch actually takes it. “Then forget I said anything. Come, it is cold and I’m sure Alma is waiting for you.” 

It’s a strange feeling to be walking arm in arm with Mitch, but Ivan isn’t going to question it. Mitch lists into him slightly, evidently more affected by the alcohol than Ivan had thought. They only come across a few servants on their way back to their rooms, and Alma bounds up to greet them. Vladimir had been taking her out with him when she wasn’t following Mitch, and he’d obviously had her out of the room today since the floor is free of messes. Mitch scoops her up - grunting a little, because she’s no longer the tiny pup she had been - nuzzling her a little before putting her down. She pads right back to her bed, evidently tired as she curls up. 

Ivan and Mitch strip down, crawling into bed together. It’s another novel experience, at least up until they get settled beneath the covers. They stick to their sides as always, drifting together in the night. 

He’s unaware that Mitch is awake until Mitch sighs gustily. “Are the others trying to matchmake us?” he mumbles, voice scratchy. 

“We’re married,” Ivan points out, feeling his cheeks heat a moment later at his obtuse answer. “I just mean, it’s a bit late for that.” 

“Is it?” Mitch pushes himself up to look Ivan in the face. “Is it too late for us?” 

Ivan feels as though he must be dreaming. “Mitch. What are you saying?” 

Mitch leans in then, pressing their lips together for the briefest of moments. Ivan is still reeling when Mitch pulls away. “I wanted to hate you. I’ve wanted that from the moment Misha brought me here, from the moment you had me in front of that priest. I didn’t want to forgive you for the things you did. I still haven’t, not entirely. But the longer I’m here, the more I realize I don’t want to live only for spite. My mother, Christopher . . . at first, their letters were solely concerned about my safety, my health. Now, their questions have started to be about us. About my happiness and - my feelings toward this place. Toward you.” 

Ivan waits for Mitch to go on, not wanting to derail or discourage him by saying the wrong thing. He’s tempted to reach out and touch, but he worries that won’t be welcome just yet either. 

“I don’t want to hate you forever. I don’t want to . . . waste my life being angry over things that would’ve happened in one way or another if my father had his way.” 

“I never wanted to hurt you. You must know that.” Ivan finally breaks, reaching out to cup Mitch’s cheek. 

“I realize that now. You still did,” Mitch brings his gaze up to Ivan’s, locking their eyes together. “You have - you are kind. You’re dedicated to your country and your people. I see that now. But forgiving will take time. As will learning to trust. I hope that . . . you would give us a chance. To be more than friends.” 

“Of course I would,” Ivan says softly. “We have forever, after all.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Rape Tag: Ivan does drug Mitch in order to take his virginity so that Mitch can't fight/struggle. There is one instance of this in detail, and reference to one additional time. However, drugging of Mitch does occur more than once for various other reasons.  
Minor Character Death: Chris Marner does kill Paul to take the throne. This is the only specifically-mentioned character that dies; there is implied death due to war.  
Prostitution: There is a harem of sorts in Ivan's castle, and there are detailed and implied encounters with sex workers throughout the fic. Participation on their behalf is willing as they are not meant to be enslaved, though that issue is never explicitly covered in the story.


End file.
